


Whatever This World Can Give To Me

by Blossom_Melina



Category: Bohemian Rhapsody (Movie 2018), Queen (Band)
Genre: Domestic Fluff, Drinking, Drinking & Talking, F/M, Family Fluff, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Making Out, Mild Language, News of the World, News of the World (Queen) Era, Party, Pregnancy, Romantic Fluff, Tight Pants, Tooth-Rotting Fluff
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-01-14
Updated: 2021-03-15
Packaged: 2021-03-18 17:07:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 15,537
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28746678
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Blossom_Melina/pseuds/Blossom_Melina
Summary: In October and early November 1977, John Deacon is preparing to leave on tour with Queen to the United States in support of their latest album, News of the World. He is conflicted about leaving on tour because while he loves traveling all over the world and playing for the fans, he is hesitant to leave his wife Veronica and their young son Robert on their own for six weeks because Veronica is pregnant with their second child. Veronica reassures John that she and Robert will be fine when he’s gone, like they always are, but John feels conflicted about leaving regardless.
Relationships: John Deacon/Veronica Tetzlaff
Comments: 8
Kudos: 16
Collections: Johnica Week 2021





	1. Always Hit or Miss

**Author's Note:**

> This work serves as the sequel to My Heart’s Jittering, which I wrote last year for Johnica Week 2020. You don’t have to read it to understand the plot for this, but I of course would appreciate it if you did! (You can also leave a comment on it if you so desire. Even though My Heart’s Jittering is a year old, comments are still welcome and appreciated!)
> 
> This fic will be 7 chapters total and any remaining chapters will be published as I write and edit them. (I have no set schedule; sorry!) Subscribe to get an e-mail alert when I publish new chapters!
> 
> The idea for this came back in September when Ra_chelB asked for JohnicaWeek prompt suggestions on Instagram, and one of mine was “leaving for tour”. I started thinking about what a tour preparation would have been like for John and Veronica, and bits of drabble I’ve had in my head for a while eventually coalesced into this fic!
> 
> Disclaimer: Although inspired by real events, the story shared in this post is a work of fiction, and nothing in it should be taken as gospel. Any real people, places, and events are used fictitiously, and any fictional characters, places, or events are figments of my imagination. I mean no disrespect to any real people used fictitiously; this was written out of love for my favorite band and one of my favorite pairings connected to said band.

_ 2nd of October, 1977 _

John pulled another button-down shirt out of the wardrobe, this one black, and set it down on the king-sized bed next to the other shirts and pairs of trousers he had laid out on the bed in their respective piles for each. He picked up a pair of black trousers from the trouser pile, laid them directly below the black shirt to see what the pair looked like, and promptly rejected it for being too “stark” for a music video because he’d just fade into the background. He was about to break up the pair when he spotted his midnight blue waistcoat with gold flowers adorned on it laying on the other side of the bed and decided to see what it looked like with the black outfit. He picked up the shirt, threaded the sleeves through the waistcoat’s arm holes, and set the combination back down directly above the trousers. He stepped back to ponder the look, scrunching up his lips and tilting his head.

_Maaaaaaybe this could work_ , he thought _, but I’m not entirely sure…this outfit is a maybe._

He removed the waistcoat from the shirt, set it back on the opposite side of the bed, and put the shirt and trousers in their respective piles on the bed in front of him. He went back to the wardrobe, pulled out a short-sleeved white polo shirt, and walked back to the bed to figure out which pair of trousers to pair with the polo shirt. He considered the black trousers but instead decided on the white dungarees that were lying toward the bottom of the trousers pile. He lifted up the pile of trousers with his left hand, pulled out the dungarees with his right, let go of the pile, and set the dungarees down on top of the bed. He threaded the polo shirt under the bib portion of the dungarees, thinking with a small smile, _Yeah, this could work. It_ is _my outfit on the album cover, after all._

“What are you doing, John?”

John turned toward the doorway, where his wife Veronica was standing with a slightly puzzled look on her face as she eyed the pile of clothes on their shared bed.

“Trying to pick an outfit for the video. We film in front of a fan club audience on Thursday and I don’t know what to wear,” he admitted, slightly frustrated.

“Where are you filming?” Ronnie asked. “And what’s the theme?”

“At the New London Theatre. We’re supposed to dress like we’re going to perform a concert, but I haven’t even chosen my outfits for the tour yet!” Queen were set to film the video for “We Are the Champions”, the first single from their new album, _News of the World_ , in front of a fan club audience, and John mentally cursed Freddie for insisting they dress in stage outfits when the tour wouldn’t begin for another month. He knew the idea was to both replicate a concert setting and begin warming up for the tour, but he cursed Freddie all the same for insisting they also shoot in front of a live audience, putting even more pressure on him to pick the right outfit.

“Maybe I can help you,” Ronnie replied, walking into the room and over to the bed to survey John’s possible choices. “What are you thinking of wearing this tour? What is everyone else wearing?”

“Freddie is wearing his patterned leotards that he started wearing last tour, Brian is probably wearing his flowy Zandra Rhodes-style shirts again and maybe some waistcoats, and who knows what Roger is wearing, since nobody sees him anyway!”

Ronnie let out a chuckle at the notion of nobody seeing Roger, knowing that her husband wasn’t wrong. “What are you considering?” she asked.

“I dunno…” John stroked his hair next to his right ear. “I’m thinking about wearing trousers with button-downs and maybe a waistcoat, but I can’t decide.”

“Hmm…” Ronnie went to the bed and thumbed through the pile of shirts, pulling out the black shirt that John had just tried a few minutes earlier and setting it on top of the pile. She went to rummage through the pile of trousers when she stopped suddenly, noticing the dungarees and polo shirt laying on the middle of the bed.

“ _Dungarees_ , John?” She held them up by a bib strap between two fingers and shot him a sideways glance as if to say, _Come **on**_.

“Whaaaat?” John protested. “They’re what I’m wearing on the album cover!”

“Our two-year-old wears dungarees, John.” Ronnie side-glanced him even harder and raised an eyebrow at him.

“Good point,” John sighed in resignation as Ronnie tossed the dungarees back on to the bed in mild distaste.

“ _Anyway_ …” Ronnie continued rummaging through the pile of trousers and pulled out the black trousers John had selected previously and paired them directly below the black shirt. “Hmm…What about…” She picked up the waistcoat and re-threaded the shirt sleeves through the arm holes and stopped to consider her handiwork.

“I actually tried that combination,” John pointed out. “I decided it was a ‘maybe’.”

Ronnie stepped back and stood next to John to get a view of the outfit from a distance. “No.” She shook her head. “The waistcoat and shirt combination is too dark. But what about…” She walked back over to the bed, removed the white polo shirt from the dungarees, and set them down next to the waistcoat and black shirt. She proceeded to unthread the black shirt from the waistcoat and set it aside, and then threaded the polo shirt through the waistcoat’s arm holes, set them down above the black trousers, and stepped back to assess her work.

“Not bad,” John decided, tilting his head, considering the outfit.

“Hmm...it’s fine, but I feel like something is missing,” Ronnie said, finger to her chin, pondering.

“See?!” John protested.

“What else is in your wardrobe?” Ronnie asked, walking over to John’s wardrobe and fully opening the doors. She thumbed through the button-down shirts and pulled out a purple one that he’d worn on the _Night at the Opera_ tour early last year.

“What about this?” she asked, holding out the shirt for John. “Purple really suits you. And it would pair really nicely with your waistcoat on the bed,” she added with a smile.

“I wore that shirt last year,” John pointed out. “You know I like to wear new outfits on each tour and each year.”

“Very well.” Ronnie put the purple shirt back in the wardrobe and kept rummaging. She eventually spotted a navy blue button-down shirt that she couldn’t recall John wearing on any of his previous tours. But what to wear with it…

_The midnight blue waistcoat won’t do_ , she reasoned. _They would blend too much together._

Ronnie began going through the trousers hanging below the shirts until she found a pair of white bell-bottoms that John had purchased earlier in the year and pulled them out of the wardrobe.

“What about this shirt,” she began, walking over to the bed and setting the blue shirt down on top of the bed, “with these trousers?” she finished as she laid the trousers down directly below the shirt. “I don’t recall you wearing any of these on previous tours. And you haven’t worn this shirt at all in a while.”

“Hmm…” John scrunched up his face and tilted his head, considering the proposed outfit. “Don’t you think it looks a little…plain? Especially next to Freddie’s leotards?”

“John, need I remind you that you have _dungarees_ on the bed?” Ronnie shot him another pointed sideways glance as she accusingly pointed to the dungarees, and John raised an eyebrow back at her, point having been taken.

“Anyway,” Ronnie continued, “I think this outfit will look nice. It’s not so dark that you’ll blend into the background, and it’s bright enough that it’ll stand out well on TV and on stage without drawing _all_ the attention. Plus its simplicity will accentuate your features nicely,” she added, slyly smiling at her husband. “And it’ll look especially sharp with the short hair.”

“Well, if you say so…” John trailed off, stroking his hair next to his ear again. “Okay, I’ll give it a go.” He walked over to the bed, picked up the outfit, and walked over to their en-suite to change, earning a lighthearted head shake from Ronnie.

“John, why are you going to the bath to change? I’m your wife!”

“Gotta have an element of surprise, dear!” John winked at her as he closed the en-suite door behind him, and Ronnie chuckled and smirked as she sat down on the bed, waiting for her husband to come out of the bath. He could have sworn that he saw her shaking her head at the damn dungarees on the bed yet again right before closing the door.

_Does Ronnie honestly think this outfit is the one?_ John thought as he hung the shirt and trousers up on the en-suite door hooks and began removing his jeans. _What could be so special about a pair of white trousers and a blue shirt?_ He folded his jeans and set them on top of the towels that were neatly folded on a shelf next to the sink, and he removed his T-shirt, folded that, and placed it on top of the folded jeans. He took the blue button-down off its hanger, put it on, and buttoned it up, leaving the top button undone.

_I don’t work in a bloody office,_ he thought, looking down at the open collar. _No need to button up_ all _the way_. John then took the trousers off their hanger, slid into them, and fixed the shirt tuck once his trousers were buttoned and zipped. He went to have a look in the medicine cabinet mirror and stepped back, still only getting about a chest-level view, but it would have to do for the moment. He stood there for a second, considering the outfit that his wife had picked out for him.

_Hmm…not bad,_ John thought, seeing himself in the mirror as he smoothed out his slightly rumpled hair from having removed his T-shirt. _I wonder how the full outfit will look. Well, one way to find out, I suppose_. John took a breath, went to the en-suite door and opened it, walking out into the bedroom to show his wife, who turned to look at the sound of the door opening.

“So what do you think, Ronnie?” John walked out of the bath and stopped halfway between there and the bed.

“ _John_ …” Ronnie drew in a breath as she took in the sight of her husband in the clothes she’d chosen for him, eyes growing wide. She couldn’t believe just how… _sexy_ he looked in that outfit. She had of course always found John to be sexy, but this was a whole other level of sexy she had yet to witness. She took in all the details: The way the button-down hugged his chest and his arms without looking uncomfortably tight, the way the trousers tightly hugged his hips and showed _just enough_ detail, and the way the stark whiteness of them somehow elongated his already long legs. When paired with the navy blue shirt, along with his short, feathered haircut he’d first had done over the summer—Ronnie knew instantly this outfit wouldn’t have worked as well with his old, long hair—it made him seem more polished and… _confident_ , despite its simplicity; or maybe it was because of it. Either way, Ronnie could hardly believe the breathtaking sight that stood in front of her. It was perfect, except for one small, little detail…

“You like it?” John asked with a small smile.

“You look… _incredible_ ,” Ronnie breathed as she got up off the bed and walked over to him. “Just one tiny, little thing…” She reached up to where John’s neck met his chest and unbuttoned the second button of his shirt. “There. _Now_ it’s perfect. You _are_ a rock star, after all.”

“Yes, I am…” John chuckled as Ronnie admired the sight of John’s short chest hair that was beginning to grow in, the top of which just peeked out above the last fastened button, and she smoothed down his shirt.

“So...is this the one?” John asked hopefully, even though he already knew the answer.

“Oh, this is _definitely_ the one,” Ronnie said, thumbing John’s shirt collar as she kissed him on the lips. “The other choices aren’t even a consideration,” she insisted as she kissed him again, this time with a bit more passion, cupping her hands around his cheeks.

“I’ll take that as a resounding endorsement!” John kissed Ronnie back, wrapping his arms around her and pulling her in closer as he did so, slipping his tongue inside her mouth. Ronnie parted her lips to allow John’s tongue to snake its way further inside, and her tongue soon found its way inside his mouth and they stood there, exploring each other’s mouths, holding each other, until Ronnie eagerly led John over to the bed and flopped both of them down on it sideways without breaking their kiss.

“Ronnie—” John began in protest, but she silenced him with another kiss.

“You—you’re squishing my clothes!” John finally managed to say between passionate kisses, and Ronnie casually brushed the clothes off the opposite side of the bed with a sweep of her arm, and they hit the floor with a thud.

“There! Now the clothes are out of the way!” Ronnie kissed John with more passion, running one hand through his hair and the other sliding under his shirt to rub his chest hair. John pulled her closer and wrapped one arm around her shoulders and the other around her pregnant belly, which was growing larger by the day.

“God, you’re so sexy when you’re pregnant,” John growled between kisses as he slowly slid the hand that had been on Ronnie’s clothed belly under her shirt and began lightly massaging her, and she shivered in pleasure at the sensation.

Ronnie broke the kiss to slowly lick and kiss her way toward John’s neck, and eventually his chest, where she stopped to admire the sight of his chest hair peeking out from his shirt. “But not as sexy as you with chest hair,” she said sultrily, unbuttoning another button on John’s shirt. “ _Fuuuuck_ , you’re so hot, John,” she moaned, planting a kiss on his chest as she unbuttoned a third button. John began to rapidly run his fingers through his wife’s hair as she unbuttoned another shirt button and moaned with pleasure. Ronnie planted another kiss on John’s bare chest—

“Wan ow! Wan ow!”

John and Ronnie stopped in their tracks and glanced over at the baby monitor that sat on top of their chest of drawers, and both of them groaned in frustration as they rolled over and lay on their backs, knowing that their hot and heavy makeout session was over. John had made the baby monitor from an old walkie-talkie set when they were expecting Robert; they only used it now when he was sleeping, as he was a bit too small for a toddler bed and still needed a cot.

“Damn it,” Ronnie sighed, tipping her head back toward the ceiling and rolling her eyes in frustration. “The Frog is awake from his nap.”

“Yup,” John sighed, staring up at the ceiling. “You want me to collect him?”

“No, I’ve got it,” Ronnie said, getting up from the bed and pulling her shirt back down. “You get your outfit ready for the video shoot on Thursday.”

“Don’t worry, Ron, we’ll continue this before you know it,” John reassured her as he too got up from the bed, leaned over to his wife to quickly peck her on the lips, and finished removing his shirt in order to change back into his T-shirt and jeans.

“We better,” Ronnie smirked, turning back to wink at her husband before leaving the room to tend to their son, who probably wanted a snack now that his nap was over.

John sighed again as he watched her leave the room. He loved how devoted she was to Robert and knew she would be just as devoted to their new son or daughter that was due to arrive in February, but it sure made intimacy difficult sometimes, especially with him being away on tour so much. _Oh, well_ , John thought as he took off his trousers and hung them and the shirt he’d just removed on hangers on the outside of the wardrobe door and went to the bath to retrieve the clothes he’d had on earlier, _such is the parenting life_!


	2. As Happy As We're Feeling Tonight

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John and Veronica attend the News of the World launch party, during which John and Brian have a heart-to-heart about life, and John tries to avoid being interviewed by the press.

_ 18th of October, 1977 _

John and Ronnie walked upstairs to the hotel pub, holding hands along the way. Queen had just been awarded a Brittania Award earlier that night—at the first-ever Brittania Awards ceremony—for “Bohemian Rhapsody” in the “Best British Song From the Past 25 Years” category (They had shared the honor with Procol Harum’s “Whiter Shade of Pale”, but it was still an honor nonetheless.), and now they were on their way to attend the launch party for _News of the World_ , which would be released in 10 days. John and Ronnie were never ones for big parties like Roger and Freddie, but they still enjoyed the occasional shindig and with it being such a big night, they knew they had to find a sitter for Robert so Ronnie could attend and share the honor with John. Ronnie relished the opportunity to get dressed up and picked a ruffled, flowy navy blue and orange paisley blouse paired with navy blue maternity trousers to wear, along with a pair of low-heeled brown boots. She’d kept her makeup rather simple with neutral-toned eyeshadow, mascara, and a light coral blusher, but she went bolder with a bright coral lipstick she’d recently purchased and was excited to try for the first time tonight. She had the front section of her shoulder-length copper hair pulled back and loosely held in place with a black lacquer barrette adorned with gold and orange flowers and a blue butterfly that John had bought for her on Queen’s last tour in Japan early last year, along with a matching black and gold lacquer necklace and earrings. Ronnie felt radiant, and as far as John was concerned, she looked rather radiant indeed.

John and Ronnie got to the top of the stairs and took in the atmosphere in front of them: Dozens of people milling about, drinks in hand, talking and mingling with anyone who cared to stop and listen for a bit. John stopped at the landing for a second, still holding Ronnie’s hand, and took in a breath.

“Ready for this, Ron?” he asked, turning to face her, and Ronnie nodded.

“More importantly, are _you_ ready?” she asked her husband, looking into his eyes, and John nodded once firmly.

“Yeah.”

He squeezed Ronnie’s hand, and they left the stair landing and walked into the party, scanning the room for John’s bandmates and their partners. They soon found Freddie standing near the bar, chatting with their tour handler Peter Brown and with Mary, Freddie’s former girlfriend that he split up with after coming out to her at the end of last year, but still remained very close to as a friend. Despite Freddie having a steady boyfriend, David, Mary was usually the one he brought to public events such as these, as he felt it would be detrimental to his career—and by association, his bandmates’ careers—if he were to publicly admit to having a boyfriend, plus Freddie didn’t want his parents and sister to have to deal with the media scrutiny as a result. John thought it a shame, really, especially since he noticed how much lighter and freer Freddie seemed after he broke up with Mary and started dating David. John brought his attention back to the party and waved in Freddie’s direction, and Freddie’s face lit up upon seeing his bandmate and his wife.

“Deacy, dear!” Freddie exclaimed, going in for a hug as John and Ronnie approached the group. “Lovely to see you! And it’s lovely to see you as well, Ronnie darling!” He took Ronnie’s free hand and planted a delicate kiss on it. “How have you been? How’s little Robert? How’s Baby Deacon coming along? Oh, I simply _adore_ that outfit!” he exclaimed, waving a hand in Ronnie’s direction.

Ronnie turned pink at the attention drawn to her, her eyes growing a bit wide at the succession of Freddie’s questions. She was used to Freddie’s flamboyance by now, but it still sometimes threw her for a loop, especially in a party situation such as this one.

“I’ve been well, thanks,” she replied. “I’ve quite enjoyed the time we’ve had at home together, and Robert is keeping me—and John—” she glanced over at her husband with a small smirk—“very busy! If you think your cats are a handful, you should try chasing a two-year-old around the house! While pregnant, no less!”

Freddie tipped his head back and cackled at the notion of trying to wrangle a two-year-old while pregnant. “I’d rather stick with Tom and Jerry, thank you very much!” he declared, and the three of them laughed. “But Baby Deacon is good?” he asked.

“Yes, we’re coming along rather nicely,” Ronnie replied, patting her stomach. “February will be here before we know it!”

Mary and Peter turned to face the trio, the former breaking into a huge grin, and the latter nodding at John.

“Ronnie! John! Hi!” she exclaimed, getting up off her barstool to go and hug Ronnie, and pleasantries were exchanged with both her and John.

“Oh, Ronnie, I _love_ that outfit!” Mary exclaimed. “It really suits you, and you look so stylish!”

“Isn’t it just _fabulous_?!” Freddie squealed. “Our Ronnie is becoming quite the fashionista!”

Ronnie blushed, thanking them for their compliments, and John squeezed her hand, beaming at her with pride.

“Good to see you, John,” Peter said to John, shaking his hand as Freddie gushed to Ronnie about remembering John buying those earrings, necklace, and barrette for her on their last Japan trip.

“You as well,” John replied. “You remember my wife Veronica.” He gently rubbed Ronnie’s shoulder to get her attention and reintroduced her to Peter.

“Pleasure to meet you again,” Veronica replied, offering her hand to Peter for a handshake.

“The pleasure’s all mine,” Peter said, kissing Veronica’s hand, his eyes noticing her stomach. “I see congratulations are in order,” he said.

“Thank you,” Veronica replied. “Yes, our second child is due to arrive in February.” She beamed, and John smiled at her in love and pride.

“Well, you’ll certainly have your hands full!” Peter remarked as Mary lightly tapped John on the shoulder.

“I’m going to refresh my drink,” she said. “Do you two want anything?”

_God yes,_ John thought. “A vodka tonic for me…do you want anything to drink, Ron?”

“Uh…a sparkling grape juice for me, thanks,” Veronica replied, and Mary went off to get the drinks as Peter excused himself to mingle, and Freddie, Veronica, and John continued to make conversation, the room growing louder as more people arrived.

Right as Mary was coming back with the drinks for everyone, Roger and Brian, with Dominique and Chrissie, respectively, spotted the group and came over to say hello as everyone waved to each other, and greetings were exchanged.

“It’s about bloody time you show up!” Freddie playfully admonished the four. “The video premiere is about to begin!”

“We would have been here earlier if Brian hadn’t insisted on taking so many damn photos with his fancy-schmancy camera!” Roger retorted, and everyone laughed, knowing how obsessed Brian was with his stereoscopic photography hobby that he’d had since he was a kid.

“It’s called a _Stereo Realist_ , for your information, Rog,” Brian retorted back, rolling his eyes but smirking. “Now everyone pose; I want a photo of all of us to mark this special occasion.”

The other seven members of the group groaned lightly. “Brian, we’ve had enough photos tonight, don’t you think?” Chrissie asked somewhat gently, rubbing his arm, but knowing that her inquiry would fall on deaf ears.

“Nonsense!” Brian insisted. “It’s a big, fancy night for us, and I think we should have some big, fancy photos to remember it by! Now, everybody squeeze in…Freddie; move back a bit so you’re closer to Deacy…” He looked through the viewfinder to gauge the photo composition. “Chrissie, move to your right a bit…no, too far. You don’t want to squish poor Deacy…Dom, move a _liiiiittle_ closer to Rog…perfect! Everyone smile! 1..2..3!” Brian clicked the shutter, and the flash of the camera went off as the photo was taken. Roger, Dominique, and Mary went to stand up from kneeling in front of the barstools, but Brian stopped them before they could fully stand.

“Don’t leave!” he shouted. “We have to find someone to take the photo again so I can sneak into it!”

The group of seven groaned and rolled their eyes.

“Oh, come _on_ , Brian!” Roger whined. “My knees are sore!”

“And I have to go to the loo!” Ronnie protested from her barstool in the back of the group.

It was then that Brian noticed Mike Stone, their co-producer on the album, walking by, and stopped him to ask if he’d take the photo, to which he agreed. Brian explained to him which buttons to press and how to advance the film, and he slipped into the back row of the group, next to Chrissie, not needing a barstool because of his height. After the photo was taken and Mike gave Brian back his camera, the group in front stood up, glad to relieve their knees from a half-kneeling position, and Ronnie hopped off her barstool to make a beeline for the loo.

“Darlings!” Freddie shouted, clapping his hands in the air, and everyone in the group turned to face him. “The video is about to be premiered! We should go get ready to introduce it!” Besides playing their new album for the attendees, tonight’s launch party was also meant to serve as the official premiere for the “We Are the Champions” video, which would officially kick off the listening party.

“Aren’t we going to wait for Ronnie to get back?” John asked.

“Yes, we’ll wait for your wife, but then we must go get ready!” Freddie insisted. He gulped down the rest of his drink and turned to the bartender to ask for another. As confident as Freddie projected himself to be in public, he could still be quite shy and nervous at times, especially when it was his songs that were being premiered, as was the case tonight. John decided a refill was a good idea, so he too asked the bartender for a vodka tonic refill.

After Ronnie came back from the loo and the band members’ plus-ones wished them luck and hugs and kisses were exchanged between them, the four musicians went up to the stage area to prepare the video viewing, with the plus-ones making their way to the front of the TV viewing area, the crowd parting for them as they made their way through. John fiddled around with the TV and the Betamax player, putting his electronics degree to use yet again in order to ensure the highest quality output from the band, until he found the right settings. After ensuring everything was set up properly, he went over to his bandmates waiting at the edge of the stage area, and they stepped onto the small stage to begin the introduction, the steady hum of conversation slowly coming to a standstill as Freddie began his introduction, all eyes now on the band.

“Good evening,” Freddie began. “We would like to thank all of you for coming here tonight to celebrate our newest LP, _News of the World_ , with us…” John’s mind began to wander as Freddie, and then Brian, spoke about the new album. He spotted Dominique and Mary between the TV and the bar; drinks in hand, listening intently to Freddie and Brian speak. He also spotted Ronnie in the crowd, standing near the wall toward the front, with Chrissie next to her, both with drinks in their hands, and he smiled. He thought about all the adventures he and the band had had with recording this album—everything from outrageous run-ins with the Sex Pistols at Wessex Studios, to the mild uproar from Roger over Brian’s instrument-less—save for a guitar solo at the end—“audience participation song”, to him writing and recording his most personal song to date, “Spread Your Wings”. He had been quite nervous to show the song to the rest of the band, with it being so deeply personal, but Freddie took to it immediately and insisted it “simply _must_ be recorded!”, and Brian and Roger agreed. In fact, there was even talk of it being released as a single sometime next year; it would be John’s second A-Side if that ended up being the case.

“…and on behalf of all of us, from Queen, thank you very much, and enjoy the video and album!” Freddie finished. The four of them uttered their thanks to the crowd, and John turned to exit the stage and join the crowd, his bandmates following behind him. John turned to Mike Stone standing at the TV and nodded to him, his signal to begin playing the video. As Freddie’s “ _I paid my dues, time after time…_ ” filled the air and his zoomed-in, eyeliner-lined eyes slowly zoomed out on the TV, John joined his wife in the crowd with Brian following closely behind. As Freddie on the TV jumped up from his seated position in front of the bass drum at “… _share of sand kicked in my face, and I’ve come through!_ ” and the black-and-white view changed to full color, he saw the full sartorial look of the band for the first time from the viewer’s perspective and realized just how well all of their outfits worked together. Freddie’s one half black-one half white leotard was the centerpiece of the fashion show, and everyone else’s outfits complemented it nicely—Brian’s crisp white button-down shirt with a black waistcoat and silky black trousers, Roger’s partially open black button-down (He _could_ be seen, after all!), and John’s own navy blue button-down shirt with white trousers, the former of which he was wearing again tonight, except this time paired with black jeans. He also realized for the first time that his outfit was sort of a “mirror” image to Brian’s, and that his dark blue shirt, while not matching the black-and-white theme of the rest of the band perfectly, made him stand out slightly as the often least-noticed member of the band, which was the way he preferred it much of the time. He glanced over at Ronnie and noticed her smiling dreamily at the television, and he rubbed her back in gratitude.

“You were right,” John said, and Ronnie turned to face him. “About the outfit. It comes through perfectly on the stage and on TV.”

“It really does, doesn’t it?” Ronnie beamed dreamily again, this time at her husband standing in front of her. “I told you it would.”

“Thank you for the suggestion,” John replied, rubbing Ronnie’s back between her shoulders. “I think I’ll wear that outfit on the tour.” He smiled, leaned in to softly kiss her, and then they both turned their attention back to the TV to finish watching the video, arms around each other and caressing each other’s backs.

* * *

The party was now in full swing, with the album playing in the background, and John and Ronnie were chatting at a table with Brian and Chrissie, sipping their respective drinks as they watched the crowd mingle around them. They saw Freddie flail his arms about and cackle as he told a dramatic story in typical Freddie fashion with Mary and Dominique chuckling alongside him as if to say, “Oh, Freddie!”; John Reid, their soon-to-be ex-manager, rubbing shoulders with record label executives—no doubt trying to get an “in” on the next big business deal; their attorney Jim Beach—or “Miami”, as Freddie had nicknamed him, declaring “Jim Beach” to be _unspeakably_ boring—quietly sipping a cocktail at the bar with his wife while talking to music industry folks; and not too far away from their group, Roger doing an interview with a rather attractive—if John did say so himself—interviewer, drink in hand. John couldn’t quite make out what was being said, but he could tell by Roger’s body language that he was drunk and very likely slagging on the music press without the interviewer realizing her line of work was being slagged on, in true Roger fashion.

“He’s pissed,” Ronnie pointed out, laughing and subtly pointing to Roger.

“No joking he’s pissed!” John exclaimed, chuckling. “Probably slagging on the British music press again without the poor bird even realizing it!”

Brian, Chrissie, and Ronnie laughed at John’s most likely true quip, and as if on cue, the interviewer glanced over at the group and made eye contact with John, signaling she wanted to interview him once she finished with Roger.

“Uh-oh, Deacy, looks like she wants to have a little chat with you!” Brian teased his bandmate, and John got a feeling of slight dread in his stomach. Despite being in a world-famous band, he still hadn’t fully gotten used to doing interviews and dreaded them, except in cases when he felt like he knew and could trust the interviewer to represent him and his bandmates well, as well as ask intelligent, unique questions of him and the band.

“Who wants another drink?” John stood up, ready to make a beeline for the bar and get the hell away from the interviewer before her interview with Roger wrapped up; Chrissie and Ronnie declining John’s offer.

“Honey, how much have you had to drink?” Ronnie asked John, raising an eyebrow at him.

“You’re driving,” John pointed out.

“What?”

“Love you.” John smiled sweetly at Ronnie as he bent down to peck her on the lips before turning around to head to the bar.

“I’ll come have another, Deacy,” Brian quipped, standing, and the two of them went off to the bar to refill their vodka tonics. They settled into barstools near the back of the room, and the conversation began to move away from the album, and music in general, and on to more personal matters.

“So how is Ronnie handling you leaving on tour this time, with being pregnant and everything?” Brian asked, a slightly serious look on his face.

“Hmm, she’s handling it well, like always, but I can tell it’s harder on her this time, with her also having to handle Robert as well.” John stared into his drink for a bit before taking another gulp. It was true that while Ronnie supported John’s career wholeheartedly, it was always hard on her—and him—when he had to leave for a tour, and it became that much harder once Robert entered the picture. If John was being honest with himself, as excited as he was to play in the States again—the tours there always seemed to be bigger than they were in Europe, and this one would be no exception, with them not only premiering their new lighting rig, but also doing a full arena tour for the first time—he was having a harder time with leaving his wife and son this time around because of the impending arrival of his and Ronnie’s new child. He had left Ronnie at home for work when she was pregnant the last time; when they did their first tour of Japan in April 1975, and again shortly after Robert was born to record _A Night at the Opera_ , but it felt different now, especially with Robert old enough to realize when Daddy or Mummy were leaving the house and with him starting to realize that Daddy was going to leave for “quite some time”. He stared forlornly into his drink again, and he felt Brian put his hand on his shoulder.

“Hey,” Brian said softly, and John turned to face him. “Are you okay, Deacy?”

John sighed heavily. “It’s just…I’m having a harder time with leaving this time around,” he confessed. “Ronnie has Robert to look after on her own while also being pregnant.” He took another gulp of his drink, finishing it off, and then signaled to the bartender for a refill. “I know she’ll handle it like she always does, y’know, but it’s just…” he trailed off, staring off into space.

“You feel a bit guilty,” Brian finished, and John nodded. “It’s hard to leave Chrissie, too, but leaving a child behind also must be even more difficult.” They stared silently into space for a minute, hardly noticing the bartender bringing fresh drinks for John and Brian both, despite Brian not having asked for one—the bartender must have sensed him needing a refill—and then Brian took a deep breath and asked John the question that had been weighing heavily on his mind for some time.

“So...how do you handle it?” he asked. “Having a kid and going on tour to the States, or to Japan? How do you balance it all?”

“It can be a real strain, yes,” John sighed, staring into his refreshed drink. “But I make sure to call Ronnie every night, and I talk to Robert when he’s awake, to keep those connections strong, y’know.” He glanced over at Brian and then back at his drink, which he took a swig from, and Brian did the same with his. “And having the financial stability is very important to us, and I think of that when the tours and being away from home get tough—” He glanced over at Brian again and noticed him taking gulps of his vodka tonic in rapid succession and looked directly at him, eyes growing wide.

“Why do you bring this up, Bri?” he asked, starting to suspect there was something more to Brian’s line of questions than normal “caring friend-slash-bandmate” talk. “Are you and Chrissie—?”

“No, we’re not expecting,” Brian answered, getting where John was going with his question. “Not yet, anyway. But we are thinking of starting a family of our own.” He gave a small, bashful smile, cheeks turning pink.

John broke out into a huge grin and leaned over to give Brian a hug from the barstool. “Brian, that’s so great!” he exclaimed, beaming with pride and excitement for his friend-slash-bandmate. “You and Chrissie will make such great parents!”

“But everything you said just now—”

“Yes, despite everything and all of the challenges, being a father is completely and entirely worth it. I wouldn’t change it for anything in the world,” John insisted, smiling with pride thinking about his young son and unborn child. “Honestly,” he punctuated, rubbing Brian’s back between his shoulders.

“I’m so glad to hear that,” Brian said, smiling with relief. “Could you not tell Freddie or Roger just yet?” he asked. “Let’s keep this just between us for now, seeing as they aren’t parents, and besides, Chrissie and I aren’t public about it yet and she would _kill_ me if it got out.”

“Of course,” John replied, as Chrissie sauntered over and caressed Brian’s back, asking how the night was going. John finished off his drink, and then decided it was about time to start making his way toward the exit, as he had had his fill of being social for the evening.

“Well, I’m going to go use the loo, and then we’re probably going to head,” John announced, standing up from his barstool and stretching his arms, back, and legs.

“Ronnie is downstairs chatting with Mary and Dominique,” Chrissie informed him. “I just left them, actually,” she explained.

“Great, thanks.” John said his goodbyes to Brian and Chrissie, went to use the loo, and then started to make his way downstairs, running into Freddie and Roger along the way and giving his goodbyes to both of them and his congratulations to Freddie. The other three members of Queen, Brian in particular, had been rather skeptical of Freddie wanting to record a song called “We Are the Champions”, but Freddie explained it wasn’t about Queen being better than all the other bands out there; it was about them and the fans all being champions together, and the fans sticking with the band—and the band sticking it out in the music business—despite the horrible treatment from the British music press. When John had glanced over at Freddie at the end of the video premiere and saw the look of pride on his face, he realized that Freddie had been right all along about recording the song, and he also realized they likely had a smash hit on their hands, if the _very_ enthusiastic fan club audience at the video shoot was any indication. The fans, by the way, had been absolutely _ecstatic_ when the band’s surprise mini-concert after the video shoot was announced that day, and it gave John and his bandmates great joy to perform for such a loyal, enthusiastic, grateful audience. He didn’t like filming music videos all that much, but that video shoot was probably the best one he’d ever experienced because of the audience reception.

As he made his way downstairs, John chuckled to himself as he remembered having dreaded shooting in front of an audience but realizing that Freddie had been right about that idea, too. He smiled with pride for his bandmate-slash-friend, and he soon spotted the women, minus Chrissie, chatting in an open space near the ballroom stage and started walking toward them.

“John!” a woman’s voice called out. “John Deacon!”

_Crap_ , John thought, sighing to himself. _The interviewer. And she has the damn cameraman with her. Well, I suppose I could give a quick hello…_

“Hello!” John exclaimed, turning to the interviewer and beaming at her and into the camera just as he reached the group of Ronnie, Dominique, and Mary. “Having a lovely time this evening!”

“Lovely to hear—” the interviewer began, but John quickly turned away, put his right hand over his face, and subtly tapped Ronnie on the shoulder.

“Wanna head out?” he asked in a low voice, and his wife nodded.

“We’re going to head, actually,” John said to the interviewer, feigning as much regret in his voice as he could muster. “It’s been lovely. Bye, Mary! Bye, Dominique!” Ronnie gave her goodbyes in return as she and John hurried out of the ballroom and to the coat check to collect their jackets, with the interviewer protesting in the distance that she hadn’t heard from John all night. As John and Ronnie collected their jackets and bags, left some change in the jar at the counter, and ran outside, they couldn’t help but snicker at what had just happened.

“John!” Ronnie exclaimed, cackling, “You just left her there in the dust!” She playfully slapped him on the arm.

“I hate doing those stupid interviews!” John protested, with an annoyed expression crossing his face. “They always ask the most banal questions and treat us like we’re idiots! And then they have the audacity to twist our words when they run the damn article!” He paused for a bit to catch his breath, and then continued. “You saw how drunk Roger was in that interview he did!”

“I’m just teasing!” She punched him on the arm playfully. “I know how much you hate talking to the press.” She rubbed him on the back, and John’s expression softened at her touch.

“I love you, Ronnie.” He turned to kiss her, and she returned the kiss.

“I love you, too, John. Now let’s go home.” They continued to walk down the sidewalk, laughing every now and again at having left the poor interviewer hanging, until they reached the carpark where they’d left their Volvo and walked to their car—keys in Ronnie’s hand—to head back home to Putney for the evening.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Song lyrics featured in the chapter taken from "We Are the Champions" by Queen, (c) Freddie Mercury, 1977.


	3. Keeping His Thoughts To Himself

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John and his bandmates head to Shepperton Studios to rehearse for the upcoming tour and rehearsal antics ensue!

_ 27th of October, 1977 _

“Mine tend to be, y’know, in that slightly lighter. I don’t think I could ever write a heavy song, y’know. It’s—y’know—it’s not in me.”

John chucked and smiled slightly bashfully as he finished sharing his opinion on his songwriting style in comparison to his bandmates’ styles, with Bob Harris nodding along as he spoke. They, plus Roger and a cameraman, were on their way to Shepperton Studios on the outer western edge of London to rehearse for the upcoming tour that they were departing for in a week and a half, and Roger was driving his dark brown Alfa Romeo while Bob interviewed John for a documentary he was making about Queen for _The Old Grey Whistle Test_ that was due to premiere on BBC2 sometime in early 1978. John and Bob had discussed Queen’s early years, with John sharing how he’d felt like “a bit of an outsider” when he first joined, the recording of their first album and how it had taken them almost a year to get it released after recording it, and about the band’s financial struggles early on due to their previous bad management deal with Trident. They had now moved onto discussing the technical side of recording, and John draped his right arm over the front passenger seat, back against the car door, and leaned forward slightly as he began to share his thoughts with Bob seated behind him, doing his best to ignore the cameraman seated behind Roger. Roger occasionally turned to glance at John and give him a smile if he liked an answer he gave before quickly turning his attention back to the road, with the houses and fields outside whizzing past as he sped down the motorway. John usually hated giving interviews, but he and the band trusted Bob Harris to present them well, so he was more forthcoming in these recent interviews with him than he was in interviews typically.

The white Shepperton Studio Centre main building, with its large black letters announcing itself, soon came into view, and Roger drove through the gates into the lot complex, and then to a small car park next to the building where they were rehearsing for the week. He pulled into an open parking space, put the car in park, and turned off the ignition as John stepped out of the car, with Roger and Bob not far behind, and the cameraman trailing them with his filming equipment. John and Roger noticed Brian getting out of his silver Jaguar XJ-S, and they shouted and waved hello to him as the three of them, plus Bob and the cameraman, began walking into the studio space; John realizing that Freddie was nowhere to be seen in the car park.

“Is Fred here yet, or no?” John asked Brian as they walked toward the giant open doors of the rehearsal studio, and Brian shot him a glance as if to say, _What do you think?_

“Typical,” John deadpanned, and Roger and Brian shot each other a glance as if to say, _That’s our Deacy!_

The group of five walked into the rehearsal studio, said hello to Ratty and Crystal, John’s and Freddie’s shared roadie and Roger’s roadie, respectively, who were discussing lunch plans for the day, and to John Harris, their sound engineer, who was busy setting up the sound board for the day’s rehearsals. The three band members walked to the far end of the studio, went up a ramp to the stage area replicated on a platform riser, and began to tune their instruments. Bob observed their process while the cameraman set up for the shot, all waiting for Freddie to arrive so they could begin.

* * *

Freddie eventually arrived, and the band began to run through their proposed set list for the tour. Eight out of the 11 songs from the new album had made it to the set list, including John’s own “Spread Your Wings”. He wasn’t entirely sure about such a personal song being performed live, but the rest of the band insisted that John deserved more than just “You’re My Best Friend” featured in the show, and that if “Spread Your Wings” ended up being released as a single as planned, then they needed to promote it out on the tour, and John admitted they had a point. He just hoped that too many interviewers wouldn’t ask him about the meaning of the song, as he truly felt it too close to his heart to share the real meaning with the world; only his bandmates and Ronnie would know the true story, and maybe when they were old enough to understand, his children.

His thoughts turned to Ronnie, Robert, and his unborn child as the band churned their way through their seven-song medley being strung together for the live shows; the band now midway through “Good Old-Fashioned Lover Boy”. As Freddie sang the line, “ _When I’m not with you, think of you always; I miss you…_ ”, John got a slight pang in his chest as he again thought of the fact that he’d be leaving his family behind in 10 days. He loved touring and playing live shows for the fans; he truly did, but leaving was always the hardest part and John was _not_ looking forward to the day he’d have to kiss his wife and son goodbye yet again for six weeks. He pushed the thought aside as Brian finished his guitar solo and he, Freddie, and Roger began belting out another chorus of, “ _Ooh, love; ooh, lover boy…_ ”, not wanting to let his melancholy thoughts impact the rehearsals. They only had this week to rehearse before the equipment would be packed up by the crew and sent over to the States, and so he and the band had to make the most of the time and not get caught up in thoughts of leaving their partners and families during rehearsal time.

Freddie finished the final chorus with a resounding plunk on the piano as John decisively plucked at his bass, Brian finished his guitar riff, and Roger rounded out the ending with a soft drum fill. Roger then shouted out, “One, two, three!” and began banging on his drum kit as Freddie pounded on the piano and Brian played a guitar intro, and the band began to make the transition into “I’m In Love With My Car”. Something sounded a bit off to John, but he kept plucking at his bass anyway.

“No, no no,” Freddie said, shaking his head and abruptly stopping his piano playing with a sour expression on his face; the rest of the band abruptly stopping along with him as they turned to look at him. “This won’t do.”

“What won’t do?” Brian asked inquisitively, the pitch of his voice rising ever so slightly. The band members were always very particular about their performances and recordings, being the perfectionists and professionals they were, but Brian was being especially persnickety today—at least in John’s opinion—and it was getting to be a bit much, with interruptions for practically every song.

_And now Freddie is joining in along with him_. John closed his eyes and suppressed a sigh, hoping this wouldn’t blow up into a full-on argument.

“Your guitar riff is off, Brian,” Freddie explained matter-of-factly as he turned to face him. “You’re playing it differently than normal.”

John suppressed another heavy sigh and a massive eye roll, as he knew from experience that Brian and Freddie were about to get into yet another argument about Brian’s playing, and sure enough, Brian very quickly proved him right, his hopes for avoiding an argument dashed.

“I’m playing what I always play!” he shouted, eyes narrowing, brows flattening, and face turning slightly red in frustration, with Freddie rolling his eyes in response.

“It’s like, _nyeh, nyeh, nyeh, nyeh, nyeh_!” Freddie mimicked Brian’s guitar sounds, scrunching up his face and miming plucking at a guitar as he spoke.

“I’m playing **_exactly_** what’s on the record, Fred!” Brian yelled, face turning redder, nostrils flaring, with Freddie exhaling shortly at being called “Fred”. He usually hated being called “Fred”; the crew members being the one exception to that. Why they got away with it and no one else did, John didn’t know, but he surmised that maybe it was because they were seen as “tougher” and “more manly” than the band members or any of their other associates.

“Did you slow down?” Roger piped up, raising his pointer finger in the air slightly while still holding onto his drumstick.

_So_ that’s _what sounded off!_ John thought. _Brian was playing slower than normal!_ He didn’t dare say anything, though, because he knew that if he did he too would become the target of Brian’s criticism.

Brian sharply whirled around to face Roger and stare him in the eye. “Oh—fuck…slowing down.” He rubbed the back of the neck in slight discomfort as he spoke. John didn’t think it possible, but he could swear he saw Brian’s eyes narrow even further as he uttered his rebuke. He shot a glance at Roger, who met his eyes, and they both rolled their eyes at each other in response to Brian’s antics.

“Did he—did he slow down…?” Roger asked no one in particular, looking around the room.

“That’s hardly the point!” Brian flung his hand outward into the air in frustration as he shouted at his bandmate.

“That’s _exactly_ the point!” Roger shouted, jumping up off his stool and throwing his drumsticks down with a resounding _CRASH!_ on the kit, one stick landing on the floor tom, and the other ricocheting off the hi-hat before it hit the drum riser and rolled down the steps, going _plunk!, plunk!, plunk!_ as it hit each step, before rolling along the bottom platform riser and finally landing next to Brian’s foot. Brian glanced down at the stick next to his foot and glanced back up at Roger, closed his eyes, and sighed with a pinched expression on his face. John fought with all of his might to suppress his laughter, not wanting to provoke Brian any further, and Freddie just sighed with frustration, though John could have sworn he saw the tiniest smile cross his lips and then quickly fade.

“I don’t even know why we’re here,” Brian loudly muttered to himself, throwing his hands in the air. “I should just rehearse by myself if this is how it’s going to go.”

“Well—you’re expecting all of us…to be **_PUH-FECT!_** before you even—” Freddie admonished Brian, pointing a finger accusingly at him.

“No, I’m just saying—” Brian began, but Freddie kept going without stopping to hear him out.

“—attempt to do anything!” he finished, rising abruptly from the piano bench. John glanced at him and gave him a small smile, and he noticed Roger doing the same. He appreciated Brian’s dedication to the band and to perfecting their sound, but his perfectionism and “my way or the motorway” attitude could get quite ridiculous at times, even for fellow perfectionists John, Freddie, and Roger.

“Oh, don’t be so fucking ridiculous!” Brian admonished back, rolling his eyes.

Freddie’s nostrils flared and his face turned red, with his hands on his hips. John knew by now that that meant that Freddie was _really_ agitated. “ _You’re_ the one who’s being fucking ridiculous—”

“Oh, _for **fuck’s sake**_!”

The arguing stopped suddenly as four heads turned to glance at John Harris standing at the soundboard, glaring at the four of them, but mainly at Brian, Freddie, and Roger.

“All of this arguing over a few bloody bars and a guitar riff?” John Harris shouted at them, flinging his hand in the air to make his point. “Get it together, mates! You’re professionals!” He flopped back down in his chair in a huff, and John silently mouthed a “thank you” to the sound engineer, having grown rather weary of the arguing; the other John nodding back briefly in return.

“He’s right,” Roger admitted with a sigh, starting down the steps of the drum riser to retrieve his drum stick from next to Brian’s foot as Freddie sat back down at the piano in slight embarrassment. “Sorry my stick almost hit you, mate.”

Brian nodded as if to accept Roger’s apology. “We did get rather heated…” he admitted, face turning crimson. “…shall we start from—”

“Food’s here!”

The band turned toward the voices to see Ratty and Crystal wheeling in a cart full of bread, sandwich fixings, crisps, soda, and Carlsberg lager and taking it over to the large table set up at the back of the rehearsal studio, where they began spreading the items out on the table.

“I’m starving, mates!” Roger announced as he set his drumsticks down on the drum riser with a resounding thud and walked down his riser, across the platform riser, and then down the ramp to the table where Ratty and Crystal were setting up the meal, while Freddie got up off the piano bench, declaring he was “just famished!” and followed suit. John and Brian took off their bass and guitar, respectively, put them back in their cases, and joined the rest of the group for lunch, the dust-up forgotten.

* * *

“So how are you feeling about the tour, mate?” Roger asked John, taking a sip from his beer. He and John were standing in a corner near the food table, having finished their sandwiches and crisps and now enjoying a post-lunch lager as the roadies laughed and joked while gathered around the table, and Brian did an interview with Bob while seated at the bottom of the drum riser. Freddie was seated at the piano, reading through the liner sheet of _News of the World_ , still trying to memorize the lyrics in time for the tour beginning in two weeks. It was one of the few times where John felt relieved that he couldn’t sing, because it meant not having to remember lyrics on top of bass riffs!

“Excited,” John answered truthfully, because family concerns aside, he truly was excited about this upcoming tour, which would be their biggest yet. “I can’t wait to premier our new lighting rig at the shows. First portable rig in the world—the stage is going to look brilliant!” He smiled at the thought of what their new “crown” lighting rig would look like. They had debuted a version of it at their Earls Court shows last June and wanted to carry it over to this album’s tour, but since it was too big for travel, they contracted with a company in Boston to build a slightly smaller version of it to take on tour with them in the States. John thought back on their early shows that featured only their logo and a few spotlights on a tiny stage and felt pride at the fact that they were now going to be playing a full arena tour with a large, portable, rising lighting rig all their own, instead of having to borrow whatever spare rigs were available or be stuck making do with the venue’s lighting, which ranged in quality from outstanding to god-awful.

“Far cry from the few spotlights at our early shows!” Roger exclaimed with a laugh, seeming to read John’s mind, and John admitted he’d just been thinking the same thing and chuckled in return.

“And look at you; one of your songs from the album on the set list roster!” Roger exclaimed, giving John a friendly punch on the arm and he blushed, taking a sip of his Carlsberg.

“And you’ve got one as well,” John pointed out, smiling.

“Yeah…I don’t know how I’m going to keep up with _that_ on stage at the end of the show!” Roger decisively took a swig of his beer. “Whose idea was it to put ‘Sheer Heart Attack’ at the _end_ of the show, anyway?”

John took another sip of his beer. “Freddie does have a point about it being a good closer.”

“Yeah, yeah...so how is Vee handling you leaving again?” Roger asked, turning the conversation to a more serious tone, glancing over at John and looking him in the eye.

“She’s handling it okay, like she always does, y’know,” John said, taking another sip of his lager. “I can tell it’s a strain on her, though.”

“I reckon, especially with managing both Robert and the baby on the way.”

John nodded in reply, taking a swig of his beer. “He’s getting old enough that he knows when either of us leave…” He stared off into space for a bit, feeling another pang of guilt over having to leave his wife and son again in 10 days.

Roger put his hand on John’s shoulder. “We don’t have to talk about it anymore,” he said, rubbing his shoulder, sensing that this was a tough subject for him. “Let’s focus on the fun, exciting parts of the tour, shall we?”

John smiled back, relieved at the subject change. As much as Roger liked to tease and poke at people, he did know when it was time to move on from a subject and John greatly appreciated him for that, especially in this moment, not wanting to become emotional in front of the roadies or the documentary crew.

“So that row earlier…what _was_ that?!” John exclaimed, finally allowing himself to laugh over the sheer _ridiculousness_ of the whole thing.

“Oh, **_god_**!” Roger moaned, tipping his head back and rolling his eyes remembering the dust-up from before the lunch break. “Brian and his always wanting to fucking _slow things down_ and Freddie and his fucking perfectionism!” He took one last decisive swig from his lager and aimed for the rubbish bin as he threw the can, missing as the can ricocheted off the bin’s rim and clattered to the floor, rolling to the back corner of the rehearsal space.

John glanced over at the empty can, it looking rather sad as it lay in the dark corner. “Well, your ricochet game is on-point, at least,” he deadpanned.

Roger gave John a silent stare for a second before they both burst into laughter at the latter’s remark.

“Your drumstick landed _right next_ to Brian’s foot!” John exclaimed, remembering his bandmate’s mini-tantrum from earlier. “How _perfect_!” He cackled, and all Roger could do in response was laugh at how ridiculously he’d behaved.

“I was behaving rather foolishly, wasn’t I?” Roger admitted with another cackle.

“Erm, no comment.” John took a swig of his lager, swallowed, and stayed silent for a moment before both of them burst into laughter yet again.

“Darlings…darlings!”

John and Roger turned to the sound of Freddie clapping to get their attention and shouting from near the ramp, not having heard him at first through their laughter.

“Bob would like to do another interview with all of us, if you’re available.”

“Yeah, we’re available,” Roger replied.

He went to the corner to retrieve his discarded beer can from the corner and properly threw it in the bin as John took the final swig of his, threw the can toward the bin—and made the shot, much to Roger’s mild annoyance, as evident by his “show-off” remark and eyebrow raise, to which John retorted that he was just jealous at his better aim and for him to wear his glasses if he wanted to have better aim—and the two of them walked up the stage ramp to meet Freddie, where they joined Brain and Bob over at the drum riser for the next documentary interview, thoughts of both the row and his family leaving John’s mind, if only for the moment.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Song lyrics featured in the chapter taken from "Good Old-Fashioned Lover Boy" by Queen, (c) Freddie Mercury, 1976.
> 
> Thanks to Growfasterfaster on Instagram/Tumblr for their recent posts about John Harris that inspired the "end of the argument" scene in this chapter!


	4. You're My Sunshine

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John, Veronica, and Robert spend the last Sunday before John leaves on tour together at the zoo and the funfair. Gobs of tooth-rotting family fluff ahead!

_ 30th of October, 1977 _

John, Ronnie, and Robert strolled along the walkway in Battersea Park, enjoying time together as a family on the crisp, overcast Sunday morning. John and Ronnie decided that they and their son needed to have one last outing before the tour, and because the Battersea Park Children’s Zoo was hosting their biannual Family Weekend in conjunction with a pop-up funfair on the old Battersea Park Fun Fair grounds directly south of the zoo, they decided to take advantage of the unusually pleasant autumn day and spend the day at the zoo and the adjoining pop-up funfair. They had decided to go to the zoo early—right at opening hours—to beat both the post-church and the late-rising crowds. While Ronnie was a woman of faith and attending church services was important to her, she also knew that John didn’t believe in the church’s teachings, and so she tended to reserve her church attendance for when John was away on tour so they could spend as much time together as possible while he was home. John, in his effort to compromise and show his wife mutual respect, would attend church with Ronnie on major Catholic holidays when he was home because he knew it meant a lot to her, but he couldn’t deny being bored out of his mind every time he attended a service.

Ronnie pushed Robert along in his pushchair as they walked toward the zoo entrance, with John snapping photos of the park scenery and of his wife and son as they walked. The zoo had encouraged visitors to dress as their favorite animals for the Family Weekend, and so the Deacons donned their frog costumes for the occasion, on account of it being Robert’s favorite animal due to his nickname, “Frog”. The moniker had stemmed from John’s mother mishearing Robert’s name as “Ribbit” when he announced the birth to her on the phone the day he was born, and she insisted that her newborn grandson was “not a frog!”. When John relayed the story to Ronnie afterward, she found “John, he’s not a frog!” so hilarious that she insisted on calling their son “Frog” as a lark, and the nickname stuck. Their frog costumes looked similar to one-piece pajama sets with a hooded frog-face—complete with bulging eyes and “breathing holes”—and a lighter, yellow-green patch of fabric at the stomach area. The costumes also came with green webbed gloves and flippers, but they’d opted to forego the flippers on account of walking outside. John and Ronnie also opted to forego the gloves on account of convenience, but Robert had insisted on wearing his, and every so often he’d point a glove-clad green webbed finger at something he saw in the park.

“Tees!” he exclaimed, pointing to a row of trees lining the walkway to the right of them. “Tees!”

“Yes, Robert. Those are trees,” Ronnie replied.

‘What color are the trees, Frog?” John asked him. He and Ronnie began teaching him basic colors recently and he was quite good at it thus far, if John did say so himself.

“Wed!” Robert replied proudly.

“Those are the leaves that are red,” John replied with a slight chuckle. “What color is the trunk?”

“Tunk?” Robert asked, giving his dad a confused glance. “Wha tunk?”

“The bottom of the tree,” Ronnie clarified. “The tall, skinny part on the grass.”

“…Bown!” Robert replied proudly, after taking a moment to recall the color. “Tee bown!”

“Good job, Frog! The tree is brown!” John exclaimed with a smile, ruffling his son’s hood.

“Tee bown!”

“Yes…and what colors are the leaves?” John asked.

“Wed!” He bounced in his pushchair.

“Yes, some of them are red. What are some other colors?” John asked.

Robert stopped talking for a moment to think of the colors as the three of them strolled down the walkway, the zoo entrance not far off. “Ellow!” he finally shouted out with a smile.

“Good! Some of the leaves are yellow! What else?” John said encouragingly as Ronnie smiled at the scene playing out before her, her heart filling with love over the way John encouraged and praised their son’s learning and gently corrected him when he made mistakes. She wished she could savor the moment forever.

Robert stared at John in confusion for a moment before pointing a webbed finger to a leaf on the ground. “Wha color?” he asked.

“That’s called orange,” John explained.

“…Oje?” Robert asked, looking up at John and then back at the leaves on the ground in front of them.

“Yup, that color is called orange,” Ronnie clarified. “Just like the fruit. You like to eat oranges, right?”

“Wight!”

“Well, that orange on the leaf is the same color as the oranges you eat,” Ronnie explained, and it was now John’s turn to smile in admiration at his wife.

“Eat eaf!” Robert reached down from his pushchair to try to grab a leaf off the ground, but Ronnie quickly grabbed onto his hand and put it back in his lap.

“No, my little Froggie,” she said with a laugh as John tried to suppress his own laughter. “You can’t eat leaves. They’re just to look at.”

“Eaf oje!” he protested, reaching out of his pushchair again to try to grab a leaf, but Ronnie returned his hand to his lap just as quickly as he reached it out.

“But it’s not a food orange,” she clarified, as John pointed to their left. “And leaves don’t taste very good.”

“Look, Robert, the zoo!” John said in an effort to divert his son’s attention from trying to eat the “eafs”, and Ronnie was equally glad for the diversion.

“Zoo!” he exclaimed. “Bamoo!” He pointed a green finger out of the pushchair to the large bouquet of balloons at the zoo’s entrance to mark the Family Weekend celebration. “Wan bamoo!”

“Sorry, Robbie,” John said as they walked up to the zoo’s entrance. “I don’t think these balloons are for sale.”

“Sorry, little froggie,” the young woman standing next to the balloons in a lemur costume said to Robert; the name “EMILY” printed on her zoo nametag. “These balloons belong to the zoo.” Emily handed Ronnie a zoo map and a pamphlet listing the Family Weekend activities. “We have balloons for sale in the traveling funfair next to the zoo,” she said in a low voice to Ronnie so Robert wouldn’t overhear, and Ronnie thanked her in reply.

“Admission is ‘pay-what-you-wish’ today, on account of you wearing animal costumes—which are just darling!” Emily continued.

“I Foggie!” Robert exclaimed, bouncing in his pushchair. “Wibbit! Wibbit!”

“And you’re a very adorable little froggie!” Emily exclaimed with a smile, peeling a zoo sticker off of a large roll and placing it on Robert’s costume.

“Monkey!” Robert exclaimed, pointing to her.

“I’m actually a lemur,” Emily replied, making a primate-like squeal that John surmised was probably that of a lemur.

“Can you say ‘lemur’, Robert?” John asked.

“Nemur!” he exclaimed. “Nemur!” He pointed to Emily.

“The real lemurs are just inside, next to the entrance booth,” Emily explained to John and Ronnie, pointing past the entrance booth. “Have a lovely time!”

“Thanks, we shall!” Ronnie and John replied back as they walked over to the ramp, pushed Robert’s pushchair down, and walked over to the entrance booth to pay their entrance fees. As they went through the entry gates and into the zoo, they quickly spotted the “lemur land” in front of them and strolled over to show Robert what the real, live animal version of Emily the Battersea Park Children’s Zoo employee’s costume looked like for the first time.

* * *

The Deacons had made their way around most of the zoo and were heading toward the exit to attend the funfair, strolling past the farm animals exhibit to their right. Robert was out of his pushchair to better see the animals as they walked and was holding onto John’s hand, with Ronnie pushing the empty chair. She noticed that the rabbit feeding was due to begin soon and pointed out the standing chalkboard listing the feeding times to John.

“John, look. Rabbit feeding,” Ronnie said, rubbing John’s arm while pointing to the chalkboard, and John turned to look. “I think this would be a fun experience for Robert, don’t you think?”

“Mmm…” John murmured. “Do you want to see the bunny rabbits, Robert?” he asked his son.

“Bunny wabbit! Wan see bunny wabbits!”

“I guess that’s a yes,” Ronnie replied with a chuckle as they turned right into the farm animal exhibition and strolled over to the rabbit display which was mostly empty of people, save for two other families on the opposite side of the display. As soon as Robert spotted the rabbits, he ran over to an open-air, wire fence enclosure containing a white rabbit with golden brown ears standing at attention. It also had a golden nose, rings around its eyes that reminded both John and Ronnie of eyeliner, spots on either side of its body, and a long stripe down its back, all in the same shiny, golden brown as its ears and nose. The rabbit also had a spot on either side of its face, right below its eyes, in the same golden brown shade.

“Hi, bunny wabbit!” Robert exclaimed, sticking a green finger through a hole in the rabbit’s fence in an attempt to pet it as it twitched its nose in curiosity. John glanced over and noticed what his son was up to and raced over to grab his finger out of the enclosure.

“No, no, Robert,” John said. “You can’t stick your fingers in his fence. He’s just to look at, like all the other animals.”

“Wan pet!” Robert protested, pouting. “Wan pet bunny wabbit!”

“They’re going to feed him soon,” Ronnie explained. “You’ll get to watch him eat his lunch.”

“I see you’ve met Buttons.”

John, Ronnie, and Robert turned toward the voice behind them to see a zoo employee in a regular uniform—who, according to his nametag was “NIGEL”—walking over with a plastic bucket containing carrot and radish tops, presumably Buttons’ and the other rabbits’ lunch. “This is our gold English Spot. She’s about two years old.”

“Oh, she’s a girl!” Ronnie said with a smile.

“Yes, she’s one of two female adults we have here at the zoo. Our other is the English lop over there,” Nigel explained, pointing to another wire-fenced enclosure on the opposite side of the rabbit display. “We’re just about to feed Buttons; I can let him pet her and feed her if that’s okay with you, Mum and Dad,” he said to Ronnie and John, setting down his bucket of greens.

“See, Robert? The nice man is going to let you pet and feed her!” Ronnie exclaimed.

“Wan pet!” Robert exclaimed, jumping up and down.

“Excited little frog!” Nigel remarked as he reached inside the enclosure, picked up Buttons, and walked over to the Deacons, cradling the English Spot in his arms. John picked Robert up and held him on his hip so he could better reach Buttons, and also to save Nigel from having to crouch down while holding a rabbit.

“Here, let’s remove your frog gloves so you can feel her fur,” Ronnie said, removing the glove from Robert’s right hand, and then his left, and putting them in the basket at the bottom of the pushchair.

“Pet?” Robert asked.

“Yes, you can pet her,” Nigel replied with a smile. “She likes being pet.”

“Be gentle,” John reminded him as Robert reached a hand out and placed it on Buttons’ back and stroked her fur, breaking into a huge grin.

“Does she feel soft?” John asked with a smile on his face, his heart filling with joy at seeing his son experiencing a simple pleasure of life. He noticed out of the corner of his eye that his wife had the same look of joy on her face.

“Soff!” Robert said. “Bunny wabbit soff!”

Ronnie reached a hand out and scratched Buttons behind the ears and grinned, and John, too, reached a hand out and stroked Buttons on her back and immediately understood why his wife and son loved this experience so much and couldn’t help but stupidly grin himself at the feel of Buttons’ silky, soft fur.

Nigel asked if they wanted to feed her, and upon hearing an “Oh, yes!” from Ronnie, he explained to her to grab a vegetable top out of the bucket and place it in Robert’s hand and to let Buttons munch on it at her own pace. The shriek of delight from Robert as Buttons nibbled at the greens out of his hand made Ronnie and John grin even bigger. Ronnie eventually went to retrieve John’s camera out of its bag, which was resting in the pushchair basket, and began snapping photos of her husband and son bonding with the English Spot, wanting to include the memory in her scrapbook of Robert’s childhood moments.

“Does it tickle?” Ronnie asked, looking up from the camera as Robert laughed and shrieked delightfully at the sensation of Buttons eating out of his hand.

“Tikko!” Robert shrieked as he continued laughing. John smiled and sighed contentedly at seeing his son so full of delight and wished the moment could last forever, but out of the corner of his eye he noticed another family standing near them and a few other families starting to come over to the rabbit display. He pulled his frog hood back up after having taken it down earlier because he got a bit too warm, wanting to lessen the chance of being recognized.

“Okay, I need to introduce Buttons to the other families waiting, so you’ll have to say goodbye to her,” Nigel said to Robert, seeming to read John’s mind.

“No say bye! Wan pet!” Robert said with a pout.

“We have to give the other families a chance to pet and feed Buttons,” John explained. “Our turn is over, so now it’s someone else’s turn.”

“But…I lub Buns!” Robert sniffed, scrunching up his face. John sighed to himself, knowing Robert was about to start crying, and he hoped either he or Ronnie could come up with a quick distraction.

“Let’s go to the funfair, shall we?” Ronnie asked suddenly in a cheerful voice, smiling. “I hear they have balloons and rides there!”

“Bamoo!” Robert exclaimed, face immediately brightening up. “Bye, Buns!” he shouted as Nigel took Ronnie’s well-timed diversion as an opportunity to introduce Buttons to the family waiting a few feet behind the Deacons. “Wan bamoo, Mummy! Wan bamoo!”

“Okay, okay,” Ronnie said. “But you have to get back in your pushchair first, so we can walk over to the funfair.”

John set his son on the ground after Nigel had greeted the next family, and he swore he’d never seen Robert run so fast toward his pushchair in his life. _Boy,_ he thought. _Promise the kid a balloon and he’ll happily do anything_!

* * *

John and Ronnie looked for the balloon stall as the family of three strolled through the funfair so they could buy the balloon they’d promised Robert. They were walking on a path with various funfair games on either side; John and Ronnie both hoping they’d find the balloon stall before Robert threw a tantrum over not getting his promised “bamoo”. They got toward the end of a seemingly endless sea of giant stuffed animals, rubber duckies, and small metal cars tacked to metal tracks on a wall and were about to turn around—

“ _BAMOO_! _BAMOO_!” Robert shrieked suddenly, bouncing up and down in his pushchair, pointing to a small stall at the end of the path. “ _Wan bamoo_!”

“Thank goodness!” John said to Ronnie in a low voice, and Ronnie chuckled softly back.

“What do you say, Robert?” Ronnie asked him as they strolled closer to the balloon stall and entered the back of the line to buy a balloon, which had only a couple of families in front of them. Ronnie unbuckled Robert and lifted him out of his pushchair so he could walk the rest of the way to the balloon stand.

“Wan bamoo, Mummy!” He looked up at her with an expectant look on his face.

“ _Please_. You say, ‘I want a balloon, _please_ ,’” Ronnie corrected him. She and John had been working on teaching him to say “please” and “thank you”, with mixed results. He still needed to be reminded a lot of the time, but Ronnie and John figured he was still very young and would eventually pick it up with time, so they weren’t terribly worried about his manners just yet.

“Wan bamoo _peas_!” Robert exclaimed with a toothy grin, copying his mum and looking up at her, and John couldn’t help but smile and chuckle. He glanced over at Ronnie and noticed a smile crossing her lips as well.

“Good job, Frog,” John praised, ruffling the hood on his son’s head, and then turning to his wife. “Well, Mum, can he have a balloon?”

“Yes, you may have a balloon, Robert,” Ronnie replied as the three of them reached the front of the balloon line and walked up to the stand. She picked up her son and held him on her hip so he could better see the balloons for sale. “Which balloon would you like from the nice man?” she asked Robert as the man inside the balloon stall greeted them.

“Geen!” Robert said, pointing to a bright shamrock green balloon in the stall.

“How did I guess,” Ronnie said to Robert. “We’ll take one green balloon, please,” she told the balloon salesman, opening up her handbag and taking out some cash to pay him.

“ _Bamoo_! _Bamoo_!” Robert cried with a grin, eyes lighting up, as the balloon man handed Ronnie the green balloon and she—and Robert—thanked him.

“Excited little frog!” the balloon man remarked with a chuckle.

“Yes, he loves balloons,” John explained. “Promise him one and he’ll do anything!” He picked up the camera that had been hanging around his neck since they’d left the farm animal exhibit at the zoo and snapped a photo of his wife and son with the balloon, a wide grin spreading across his face. He’d snapped another photo when he felt a tap on his shoulder and turned around to see a gentleman from the next family in line, who were all dressed as gray rabbits complete with bunny ear headbands, cottontails on their lower backs, noses colored with black makeup, and black whiskers drawn on their faces.

“Do you want to join in the picture, mate?” the man asked. “I can take a photo for you if you’d like.”

“Yes; that would be lovely,” John replied, taking off his camera and handing it to the man. He explained to him where to look in the viewfinder, which button to press, and how to advance the film, and then he posed next to Ronnie with Robert perched on her hip between them, and the three of them smiled for the man on his command.

“Wabbit!” Robert exclaimed, pointing to the man as John went to retrieve his camera from him.

“Indeed, we’re all rabbits!” the man replied, gesturing to his wife and two daughters, one in a pushchair who looked to be about Robert’s age, and the other who looked to be about five or six, shyly standing next to her mother and holding her hand while sucking her thumb on her other, free hand.

“Those frog costumes of yours are just _darling_!” the wife exclaimed.

“Thank you,” Ronnie replied. “Our son just adores frogs. Your rabbit costumes are delightful as well!”

“And ‘Frog’ is his nickname, so we figured it was the perfect choice,” John interjected. He noticed the woman give him a puzzled look, so John briefly explained the story behind the nickname as he took Robert from Ronnie’s hip to put him back in his pushchair and the “Rabbit Man” and his daughters walked up to the balloon stall to make their purchases; the wife staying behind to chat with Ronnie for a bit.

“And I see you’ve got a little tadpole on the way…” the woman remarked, nodding toward Ronnie’s pregnant belly.

“Yes, due to hatch in early February!” she quipped, patting her belly, and John chuckled slightly as he buckled Robert back into his pushchair, sincerely hoping their new son or daughter wouldn’t be stuck with the nickname “Tadpole” because while “Frog” as a nickname was one thing, “Tadpole” was a completely different manner.

“Daddy?” Robert asked from his chair as John was buckling him in.

“Yes, Frog?”

“Wha tapol?”

John didn’t know whether to sigh or burst into laughter, so he instead chose to suppress both impulses. “It’s a baby frog, son,” he said, hoping Robert wouldn’t ask any more questions. He still didn’t quite understand the idea of a baby growing inside his mum’s belly, and John was completely perplexed at the notion of trying to explain metamorphosis to his too-young-to-understand son. What’s more, he _certainly_ didn’t want to have to try to evade questions about where babies came from. He tensed up, gritting his teeth and shuddering just thinking about it. Luckily for John, though, his son was almost immediately distracted by the balloon still in his mum’s hand.

“Wan bamoo!” he said, pointing to Ronnie.

“We better give him his balloon, Ron,” John said to his wife, who wrapped up her conversation with the “Rabbit Woman” just as her husband and girls were returning from buying their balloons. Ronnie walked over to John and Robert and proceeded to tie the balloon to the pushchair handle at John’s suggestion, so they could better keep an eye on Robert while he played with his new balloon.

“Here’s you balloon, my little Froggie,” Ronnie replied with a smile as she handed the balloon to her son, much to his delight.

“Bamoo!” Robert exclaimed, grabbing the balloon around the middle with his tiny hands. “Lub bamoo!”

“What do you say, Frog?” John reminded him.

“Tan-koo!” Robert replied, grinning widely.

“You’re welcome!”

The Deacons continued meandering through the funfair, with a pit stop for a roundabout carousel ride along the way after Robert spotted the colorful, spinning attraction blasting its calliope music and had asked to go for a ride. He had been a bit upset at both not being able to sit on a horse on account of being too little to hold on, and at Ronnie not being able to join him and John on the ride on account of being pregnant, but John explained to him that Mummy had to look after the balloon while they were on the ride, and son and father nonetheless enjoyed themselves and waved to Ronnie on the outside of the fence every time the carousel spun past her from their intricately carved Baroque-style bench that reminded John of furniture and décor he’d seen in Freddie’s flat.

After their carousel ride, they rejoined Ronnie and they continued to stroll through the funfair, indulging in burgers, chips, candy floss, and funfair games along the way, with John even winning a round of “Water Gun Fun” and selecting a small, pink teddy bear for Ronnie at her choosing. They came upon the amusement rides section of the funfair and decided they would try to find some more toddler-friendly rides for Robert, but Robert soon had other ideas as for what he wanted to ride next.

“Wan ri!” he said, pointing to his right and letting go of his balloon, which popped back up above the pushchair. John and Ronnie turned to look at where Robert was pointing and they noticed the Waltzer; its sign flashing bright lights and seat pods spinning beneath its even brighter, flashier roof. John realized it reminded him of his band’s new lighting rig that they’d be performing underneath in 12 days’ time, and he chuckled lightly to himself.

_Only Queen would have a lighting rig reminiscent of a funfair ride_ , he thought.

“Wan ri!” Robert exclaimed again, still pointing to the Waltzer. John turned to Ronnie and gave her a “ _He can’t be serious…_ ” glance and they smiled at each other, both of them suppressing their laughter.

“You want to ride _that_?” Ronnie asked in disbelief.

“Wan ri!” He leaned forward in his pushchair in an effort to get out, but his seatbelt held him in.

“Sorry, Robert,” John said. “You’re too little to ride that. You’ll have to wait until you’re bigger.”

“Wan ri _peas_!” Robert pleaded, kicking his feet and still pointing to the ride.

“Well, he remembered to say ‘please’,” John said to Ronnie in a low voice, and she once again suppressed her laughter.

“You can’t ride,” Ronnie explained. “They won’t let you. You’re too little.”

“ _Say peas!_ ” Robert protested, face scrunching up and voice rising. He kicked his feet harder and began to flail his arms as his face turned red. “ _Wan ri PEAS!_ ”

John and Ronnie looked at each other and sighed, knowing a full-blown tantrum was on its way and that there was nothing they could do to stop it.

“Sorry, Robert,” John said. “The answer is no. You’re too little.”

“ _WAN. RI. **PEAS**_!” Robert screamed, wailing and starting to cry as he continued kicking his feet and flailing his arms. “ ** _WAN RI PEAS_**!”

“I think a certain little frog needs to go home and take his nap,” Ronnie said, pushing Robert’s chair past the Waltzer and toward the funfair exit with John walking alongside.

“ ** _NO NAP_**! **_WAN RI PEAS_**!” The protest came out in an ear-piercing shriek, and a few people turned to stare, much to John’s and Ronnie’s embarrassment.

“He wants to ride the Waltzer,” John explained sheepishly to a couple staring at them as Robert continued to scream, cry, kick, and flail in protest, his face crimson and tears rolling down his cheeks. John was never gladder in his time as a parent to have both a pushchair and have his son buckled into it, because at least with him strapped in, he couldn’t take off running for the Waltzer and leave his parents to chase after him in a sea of people, not to mention yelling after him in a cacophony of funfair noise. John again tensed up, gritted his teeth, and shuddered at the mere thought.

“I think he’s too little for that!” the man in the couple remarked jovially, chuckling.

“No shi…tzu!” Ronnie tersely shot back, glaring hard at the couple as she gave the chair an aggressive push away from them and closer to the exit. John just shrugged sheepishly back at them as he jogged to catch up with his wife and son, not really blaming her for being so curt. They tensely and quickly walked along until they exited the funfair and headed for the park exit, with Robert still screaming, before John gently rubbed Ronnie on the back and offered to take pushchair duties from her so she could calm down, which she gratefully accepted.

“Sorry I was so cross back there, but they were being so… _cheeky_!” she exclaimed, teeth still clenched and suppressing the urge to curse in front of their son, whose screaming had been tamed to a whimper after he eventually tired himself out.

“I get it,” John said. “It’s how I get with the press when they’re being so daft.” They walked along for a bit before John broke into a giggle.

“No _shih tzu_?” He raised an eyebrow at his wife, smirking.

“I didn’t want to curse in front of Robert!” Ronnie protested, blushing furiously. They were silent again for a few moments before she, too, burst into a giggle. “Hopefully he doesn’t pick _that_ one up!” she added with a slight grimace before they laughed and then fell silent again. After strolling along for a bit, John rubbed Ronnie on the back again and stroked her hair before leaning over to give her a quick peck on the lips.

“You’re a good mum,” he said, squeezing her hand, assuaging her unspoken doubts about her parenting skils.

“And you’re a good dad.” She squeezed his hand back, feeling grateful to have him in her life.

They strolled along to the park exit and to the carpark across the street mostly in silence, save for the occasional whimper from Robert, and John thought again about how he’d be leaving in a week’s time; one week from today, to be exact. As much as he would miss his wife and son for the six weeks he’d be in the States, he had to admit he certainly wouldn’t miss Robert’s tantrums while he was away. He felt both relief and guilt over that, knowing that Ronnie would be left to handle their son on her own, and all John would be able to do was comfort and reassure her with his words and try to parent his son over the phone in the few minutes they’d have to speak to each other on every call. He willed himself to push the thought aside and just enjoy the day they had together—despite Robert’s tantrum—and as if she could read his mind, Ronnie linked her arm around his as they strolled along, enjoying the crisp, late October Sunday.


End file.
